


List

by Gem_Gem, KittieHill



Series: Christmas Prompts [12]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A-Z Christmas Prompt, Cheek Kisses, Christmas Lists, Friendship, Friendship/Love, John is Not Amused, John is a Good Friend, John is stubborn, John wants to buy him a gift, Lists, M/M, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock doesn't want a gift, Sherlock is argumentative, Tenderness, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:21:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21772879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gem_Gem/pseuds/Gem_Gem, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittieHill/pseuds/KittieHill
Summary: What did he want? What did the genius, arrogant, arse of a detective want for Christmas?
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Christmas Prompts [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559605
Comments: 5
Kudos: 80





	List

**Author's Note:**

> A note from Gem_Gem: As some of you may know, an election happened here in the UK. I don't want to use it as an excuse for this being poor... yet at the same time, I'm going to haha!  
> This is short and may not be the best. Distractions are distractions. We were both distracted and it was difficult to fully commit.  
> Hopefully you understand!
> 
> Note from Kittie: Gem has done an amazing job with this fic. I had a bit of an emotional breakdown after seeing the election results and left her with a half finished story whilst I went for a cry. She has done all of the work on this and it's brilliant. Huge thank you to her for this, and also for looking after me last night.

John went back over his list of gifts for friends, for family he didn’t see anymore, for coworkers he didn’t overly like, for Mrs Hudson, but not for Sherlock, and sighed in frustration. Every single present was accounted for, was bought and paid for, was wrapped and stored, some even sent out, and he still had nothing for Sherlock. It was just so difficult to buy for him, which although expected, was still a headache. John had no idea if the man would even like anything he thought of getting him, or worse, deduce his dislike for it the instant John bought it, before he’d even had the chance to hide it behind ostentatious wrapping paper. What did he want? What did the genius, arrogant, arse of a detective want for Christmas?

He'd been thinking it over for months. He'd tried to pay extra attention to the things that Sherlock had said, had mentioned in passing or grumbled about under his breath, but they had never been things that could be linked to gift selecting. If they had, John had missed out on it. Sherlock talked, sometimes incessantly, sometimes not at all, and it was frustrating trying to pick the right moment, trying to digest the slew of words, verbal or silent, that filled the flat since the day John had met him. Why was there nothing? No hint, no blunt comment, not even a lingering gaze on an item. It didn't help matters that John had started feeling a certain something toward him, that he'd been distracted by his eyes, his hair, his neck, his small, vulnerable, genuine smile.

Glaring at the list, John went through it one more time, double checking everything was done for the others just to be on the safe side, and then crumpled it up, throwing it into the kitchen bin as he went to brew himself a cup of tea. He knew he didn’t have to buy the grumpy Grinch anything. Knew that Sherlock would snort and roll his eyes, not at all interested in the idea. Yet John felt a compulsion to do it, felt like he had to at least do something, anything, for the idiot on Christmas.

“The kettle clicked twenty minutes ago,” Sherlock’s voice uttered into his ear, almost making him jump out of his socks.

“ _Jesus fucking Christ_!—You need a bell around that neck of yours!” John muttered through his teeth, heart thundering at more than just Sherlock's sudden appearance as he moved away from him and turned around, giving the pyjama wearing fiend a glare through his eyebrows. “Would suit you down to the ground. What with you sneaking around like a bloody cat all the time. - Do you purposefully quieten your footsteps? Prowl around on your tiptoes? Or do you float?”

Lifting an eyebrow at John's aggrieved response, Sherlock eyed him up and tilted his head, “I wasn’t sneaking. And, I _did_ call your name. Several times in fact, but you didn’t answer. You just stood there, staring at the wall while the kettle boiled - What were you thinking so hard about?” he asked with a drawl, as if he already know, which, as it was him, that probably wasn't far from the truth. "Has it has anything to do with—"

“ _Christmas_ ,” John admitted rapidly, not wanting to get into anything else and finding it better just to get the fact he was difficult to buy for out in the open. He gave a half shrug at Sherlock's replying fluttering blink of confusion. “Whether to buy you a gift or... well, or not. - I know it's late-ish, but I _have_ been trying for a bit now and it's only got worse the closer to Christmas we get. I have bought for everyone I've wanted to buy for, except _you_. You are the only one left. The last. The one I'm struggling to even imagine what it is you may want. You are the one that I've just... got _nothing_ for.”

“Oh. Is _that_ all?” he huffed, frowning softly. “I told you before there’s _no need_. There isn’t anything I really want and I’m not--” Pausing, Sherlock let out a slow, gentle sigh, and stepped closer. “This is _really_ bothering you, isn't it? Why?”

“It's bothering me a bit, yeah,” John replied, pressing and pushing a hand to his head, trying not to stare at Sherlock's tenderly curious expression. He seemed almost hopeful. He shrugged again. “I _like_ buying gifts – It doesn't have to be anything expensive or massive, you know. Just a token of my… appreciation of you.” John wiggled his toes in his socks, shuffling a little awkwardly at the admission. "I also like the look on people's faces when they open something from me. And I want to... see that look on you too."

“You don’t need a gift to show your appreciation,” Sherlock replied with a sudden rush of colour to his cheeks. “You, uh, show your appreciation through words and actions. Quite often. Difficult to top such… _flattering_ presentations.”

“Well, I'm going to go out and have a look around London anyway. Might take Hudders with me… unless you want to accompany me? Go for a wander around the shops and possibly point out what you may be inclined to like on Christmas day?” John asked, eyebrow already raised knowing that Sherlock was highly likely to say no. He wasn't a fan of crowded shops, even when it wasn't the Christmas rush. If there was a choice in the matter, he often opted out of it, only going out into the bustling streets when necessary or dragged.

As suspected, Sherlock curled his lip at the very idea of stepping out into the mob of pedestrians, glancing away and half turning towards the living room windows, as if he could see out of them from where he stood in the kitchen to the streets below, “ _No_. - And if you _are_ going to buy for me while you're out, doesn't having me there defeat the whole purpose? I thought it was meant to be somewhat of a surprise?”

“Surprising you is _redundant_. - So you don't want to come with me then? Well, if you're sure?” John asked a final time and stepped towards Sherlock when he made a low snarling grumble of annoyance, brushing their hands together before pushing up onto his toes and giving him an odd embrace, their cheeks sliding warmly together. He hesitated, looking at Sherlock's ear, looking at the glossy curls that half obscured them, and then turned his head to leave a fleeting kiss at his cheek, “How about I bring you back some of that fudge you like? Will that get rid of this sour mood?”

“...I …it may do - All right then. Fudge. Perhaps that can be the gift?” he breathed, gazing at John with a look of abrupt and very obvious tenderness, his mouth quirking up on one side in half a smile. John felt his heart clench at the sight, at the openness he was being permitted to witness. “You… don’t need to buy me anything though, John. _Really_. I won’t be buying _you_ anything. Nothing at all. You have all you need and I know you dislike gifts that have no thought to them. Have no _real_ purpose, other than to take up space and gather dust.”

“I don't mind, Sherlock. I don't care that you won't be responding in kind,” John assured him, composing himself with a cough and an extending arch of his back. He turned away to gather his shoes, the most comfortable shoes he owned, the ones with most grip, and slipped them on, bending to tie them. “Tell you what – how about you let me watch Home Alone as a gift? No moaning or griping?”

Sherlock hissed through his teeth at the suggestion, shaking his head, “I _can’t_ promise that. I shall _never_ promise that. I will moan and gripe until I die. You must be reminded of the rubbish you decide to waste your life on.”

“Firstly, it's a _classic_ ,” John laughed, “And secondly, why can't you seethe and sizzle over these petty things in your head, for once? Fill a room in that palace of yours with all the things wrong with all the things I like, then set it on fire and start again. Give you something to do! Is it _really_ so beyond your control? - I _know_ you can keep quiet. I've seen you keep quiet. Yet you won't for me? - There _is_ an issue with the occasional thought leaking out sometimes, granted, but that's normally during your thought processes connected to a case. You _never_ keep quiet then. Even when you want to be, even when you slip into an unwanted doze on the sofa. - I'm fairly certain you had a conversation in _German_ once when you were last asleep, for goodness sake! You're always rambling about _something_ and you need to try and fix that.”

“You _like_ my ‘rambling,’” Sherlock retorted and glided toward him to take hold of his elbow, stopping him from turning away and leaving. “Stop. Don't go. _It’s not fair_. Because if you buy me something, no matter what that something is, it means you can hold it over me. - And what if I _hate_ it? What if you buy me something I have no interest in keeping?”

“It will probably only be something little,” John promised, patting the pales curves of Sherlock's knuckles. “Just a daft little token and I won't be offended if you don't like it. _Honestly_ , it'll be fine. - The gift giving is important to me. A small sign that I'm thankful for you being in my life, that's all I want to give. Just something. Something to express what I might not _say_ in words...”

“But you don’t need to give me a gift to be thankful!” Sherlock complained and childishly yanked John towards him, dropping his head against John’s shoulder in his usual dramatic fashion, still holding onto his elbow as he did so. John flailed for a moment, knocked off balance, and then gave a tut, hands up either side of him in resigned annoyance. “You _will_ be offended. _I know you_. You’ll pretend you’re not offended, but you _will be_. - It'll be brought up in one of our arguments as an off-handed comment. Then you’ll make sure to remind me _every_ Christmas until we’re old and grey! It happens to _everyone_. Gift giving is a horrendous scam! It's _not_ better to give, than to receive. That's a lie. At some point it'll grind on your last nerve--”

“When we're old and grey together I'm sure I'll have _a lot more_ gripes of things you have done. Things that will be more important, and dramatic, than a few lousy Christmas pressies.” John told him, slapping gently at Sherlock's sides, “Now, let me go. I have to go and see if Mrs Hudson wants to come. I bet she'll be up for having a wander. I'm sure she'll be quite a lot more excited to go than you ever would.”

Sherlock let out a small muttering complaint that John couldn’t make much sense of and curled his arms about his waist, “I don’t want _anything_ from you. I don’t want that sort of thing hanging over me. Forcing me to… _reciprocate_.” 

“ _Dear Lord_ —Okay, how about instead of a gift you give me another one of those shoulder rubs?” John asked, giving Sherlock's hunched back a few brief strokes, trying not to linger, trying not to appreciate the heat that came off him, the sensation of his dressing gown against his fingertips. “It was _really_ helpful and stopped my shoulder being tight. So I'd love another one. - How's that?”

“Then instead of _you_ buying _me_ a gift, how about you…” Sherlock leaned away to look around, eyes darting as he tried to think of something, be inspired by something, “you… uh… you do… um… I…”

John sighed, but couldn’t help being amused and a little emotionally moved by the reactions, almost preening at the fact Sherlock wanted him to stay, wanted him to not grow to resent him, “ _Sherlock_. Sherlock… _Sherlock_ , I _want_ to get you something. I really don’t care if you return the gesture or not. I won’t be spending hundreds of pounds on you, just… you know, a small _something_. An anything--”

“ _No_. No, you _will_ care. More so if you keep it up. It’ll _accumulate_ over time and one day it _will_ get to you. You’ll glower at me and expect me to—”

“ _God’s sake_! Just let me do this!” John exclaimed, taking hold of Sherlock’s silk covered shoulders in his hands, holding him still, lifting his brow, and looking into Sherlock’s sullen face. “One year. _This year_. This Christmas. Let me buy you something. - If you hate it, well, truthfully, I’m really _not_ going to be surprised by that. You’re a moody dick and we spend many a time debating each other’s tastes.”

Sherlock clenched his jaw, muscles jumping, twitching, and he rolled his eyes, “I am _not_ moody.”

“Mm-hm.”

“I’m not! - I have my opinion, just as you have yours. I just find that I can back mine up with evidence. _Frequently_.”

“ _Bollocks_ ,” John argued, though quickly closed his mouth, shook his head again and squeezed Sherlock’s arms tightly. “Look, _whatever_ , just… let me have this. Let me do this. - If you were going to make a Christmas list--”

“I _don’t_ make Christmas lists.”

“--I said _if_ you were going to make one—”

“No. Not even _hypothetically_ would I make a Christmas list.”

John counted to ten, inhaled deeply, held it for a second, and then let it out, cracking his neck and jaw, “If you could have _anything_ you wanted. What would you want? - And before you retort with something annoying like ‘ _that’s unfeasible John, I don’t deal with the unfeasible_ ,’ just humour for one second, for fuck sake! What do you _want_? A new scarf? Another dressing gown to add to your collection? Another animal skull? Cufflinks? Snazzy socks? A new belt? A woolly hat? Another magnifying glass?—”

“A _book_!” Sherlock announced loudly and sighed with a surly purse of his lips, head bowing in defeat. “If I were going to have anything, it would be a book. - Actually, there are few books I would like. If you’re so maddeningly determined to buy me something, I want it to be something I will _actually_ savour and make use of. So a book will do.”

John blinked and nodded, “Okay. Okay, _great_. What books?” he asked with a smile, happy to finally be getting somewhere.

“Well… The Art of Perfumery, and Method of Obtaining Odors from Plants by George William Septimus Piesse would be… nice.”

“Okay.”

“It’s a book about the methodology behind extraction methods and blending in perfumery,” Sherlock murmured. 

John’s smile grew ever wider the more he said, the more he divulged, “Oh yeah? Wanted this for a while, have you? - It’s not expensive, is it?”

“No. Not overly so,” Sherlock replied and gave a long sigh, looking toward the bookshelves for a momentary pause. “And I’ve thought about it. I find old books and textbooks interesting to go over. See how things have progressed over the years pertaining to certain aspects of science, of chemistry. - And scents are _fascinating_. They influence feeling and memory by varying degrees. They are often unique. Distinct. And can be _very_ telling...”

“Alright then. I’ll get the perfume book for you. - Is it really old?”

“Relatively. Yes. Though there are reprints. I’m _not_ asking for the first edition,” Sherlock groused, avoiding eye contact now. “Of course, you can always get The New System of Chemical Philosophy by John Dalton instead. That’s one I want too. I had it but… I think I… well I don’t have it any longer.”

“Anything else?”

“Beginner's Bee Book by Frank Chapman Pellett.”

“So just books, _nothing else_?” John asked, releasing him to quickly route out the post-it notes and a pen. “Nothing to wear or listen to or… anything like that?”

Sherlock closed his dressing gown, tightening the sash with a grumpy grunt, “No. Nothing else. I am not in need of anything else. - I don’t really need those books either. It’s not a priority. I can live without them. Not _vital—_ ”

“ _Yeah, yeah_ , I get it Sherlock,” John cut in and finished off his list of three books and taking the post-it note with a whipping flutter, feeling rather accomplished and proud for finally wearing Sherlock down. “I’ll be back later then. See if I can find these in any bookstores or whatnot. - If not, then I can go online, I suppose.” Walking over, John gave Sherlock’s nape a clasping knead, enjoying the look of contentment that took over his face and pulling him down to a small, one-armed hug. “I won’t be long. _Don’t_ complain when I get back.”

Armed with his yellow note and a surge of optimism, John went down for his coat, swung it on, and then knocked on for Mrs Hudson, explaining the situation, flapping the list at her as they stepped out together. He looked back, only once, as they got into a cab and saw Sherlock watching them from the window, looking excessively forlorn at being left in the flat alone. It was sweet, if a little manipulative. John threw him a wave as they drove off and shared a look with Mrs Hudson, slumping down in his seat with his arm warmly pressed to hers, thankful for her presence.

"I'm surprised you got anything out of him," she tittered. "Seeing as all he wants, all he needs, is _you_."

"Yeah. I expected him to keep— _What_? Mrs Hudson... we... listen, you have to know, the two of us? We... we... we're not..."

" _I know, I know_. You've had a falling out a few times. But that's because it's still a bit new! All relationships go through a bout of disagreements - Normally it's after the honeymoon period, not during it, but... _well_... I suppose it makes the making up all the more _fiery_ , doesn't it?"

John shifted, glancing at the driver, "That's..."

"It's okay, love. Don't be embarrassed. I haven't _heard_ anything. I keep myself to myself, you know that - I can just tell from the look in both of your eyes! You practically smoulder! It's almost _indecent_!"

"Right..." John mumbled, his head throbbing along with his racing heart. "Indecent. Yes, that's probably the correct word for all of this..."

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback fuels us! 
> 
> [Kittie's Twitter](https://twitter.com/ao3hill)  
> [Gem's Tumblr](http://gem-gem-bites.tumblr.com/)  
> 


End file.
